The Irascible Cripple (swordcanes) wrote in vicodin_rpg,
The Irascible Cripple

At eight he was wasting time and didn't get there until a quarter past. Paused, stepped before her window and turned his face to look. He expected her to be gone, but she was bent over her work. Absorbed in something that had usurped the thought of him; some limb or organ of the hospital. A precise operation. Cuddy the paper surgeon. He elbowed the door and it opened very silently. He slid in, closed the blinds. Came forward and with a quickness of motion put down a bottle of rum hard in the middle of the desk. Sat his hip down on the corner and leant on the cane.
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